Month: July 2017

Two and a half years ago, my girl’s dearest dream came true when she rounded the corner of the stables at her riding school and met a very special pony. A pony of her own. She couldn’t speak for half an hour; lost in a thrall of wonder and joy. It was the beginning of such a beautiful friendship. This is her on that day, the picture was later used for the cover of the Horse and Pony ‘Ponies’ mag.

We’ve just had the vet out to see our beautiful girl. Her leg has been swollen and not responsive to ice, poulticing and wrapping. She looked at it, grimaced a little and got the ultrasound machine. After looking at the ligaments from every angle, she started her next sentence with“I hate to be the bearer of bad news…”.
I swallowed, hard. She talked about how the type of injury was the sort of thing they usually see in high performance sport horses, that it is often career-ending. Our mare had injured her check ligament in the paddock (probably reliving her heydays with all her galpals). The vet showed me on the screen the big hole in her ligament.

Then it was time for a thorough check up. And more bad news; her melanomas have spread into her face and through her gastointestinal tract. She is not a young filly, our girl. This year she’ll be 25 years old. The treatment for her leg injury means six months of penning, treatment and rehab. There is no treatment for the spread of the melanomas. She won’t be flying around like the fiery showjumper she is, anymore.

We are faced with having to weigh up that beautiful pony’s future. To make the hardest decision of all. How do you know if euthanasia is even right? How do you explain that sometimes, that is the kindest path, to a kid who loves this pony with all of her being? I don’t know if I’m doing it the right way. I’m talking to her about how responsibility means making tough decisions sometimes; about not letting her beautiful pony suffer longer, about letting her go with the dignity she deserves, while she is in a happy place, surrounded by love. And in between I’m fighting back the helpless sadness of this mothering task and wondering how on earth we will say goodbye.

I want to shield my daughter from the sorrow of it all, but my arms can’t hold it back. This pain we feel is as much a part of living as the air we breathe. It’s as much a part of loving, as the happy times. So often I’ve had to say to my kids: the cost of great love is the grief we must shoulder when we lose our loved ones. When the sadness of loss overwhelms us: it is proof of the depth of our love, of how lucky we have been.

Lyndsay-pony (elsewhere on this blog referred to as Lulu) will always be a special part of our family. The gifts she brought us when we were lucky enough to become hers will be treasured forever. There is no forgetting a beautiful girl like that. She hasn’t just made my daughter’s pony dreams come true, but mine too. I don’t know how we are going to say goodbye when the time is right, but we will. We will find a way that is respectful and kind and beautiful. I hope that the rainbow bridge really is there. I hope we’ll cross over one day and find her there, waiting to wuffle into our palms again and push her beautiful big head up against us. I know my Bee will want to twist her fingers through her mane again and whisper secret pony murmurs into her grey ears.

Until then, sweet girl, we will just miss you with deep gratitude. Thank you for making our lives so much better. I’m so sorry we can’t fix you and I wish with all my heart that you could stay with us. Be free, Sweetness. Go run into the bright sunshine and let the wind fly your hair.

Today is the anniversary of Kellie‘s death. All over the world, the people she impacted in life will be feeling a deeper ache today. 365 more days around the sun on this blue and green planet, in our little sector of the universe. For many of us she is our Supernova. A brief, brilliant miracle. A solar biker chick, burning trails in the galaxy. Spinning on a dime and firing up the skies as she blazes past.

I think of lyrics from a song that has always helped my own mother-grief, Bright Star by the Indigo Girls. This song has always spoken to me and for me. Today I’m dedicating it to Kellie’s girl, Ash. For me, it is the song from a daughter to a mother she has lost. I’m sure Ash has her own grief music closer to her generation! I just wanted to share this one from my heart to hers.

Fare thee well my bright star
It was a brief brilliant miracle dive
That which I looked up to and I clung to for dear life
Had to burn itself up just to make itself alive

And I caught you then in your moment of glory
Your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage
With a moment so clear that it’s as if you’re still before me
My once in a lifetime star of an age

So fare thee well my bright star
Last night the tongues of fire circled me around
And this strange season of pain will come to pass
When the healing hands of autumn cool me down

-Indigo Girls ‘Bright Star’

Today I received an email from Kellie’s husband Mark. He wrote to share the latest news of the Scholarship Fund they created in Kellie’s name. I love the idea of a legacy like that. Her passions, her generosity. Here is what he wrote:

Hi All –
With today being the 19th of July, I thought it would be meaningful to celebrate our memory of Kellie today with an update on the scholarship.

Nicola was our first recipient who went on to achieve remarkable success in her final year with a GPA of 6.66, two publications, and several readings. Beyond this she was continuing to submit to larger journals. She shared how this would not have been possible without receiving the award. In short, the outcome for our 2016 recipient exceeded all expectations.

Luc, Ash, Ann, Charlotte and I attended the presentation event late last year at QUT where the 2017 recipient was announced. We have another very worthy recipient in James (picture attached). I am particularly pleased to understand James specialises in writing Sci-Fi. As part of his address, it was good and unexpected for Luc and Ash to hear Glen talk about Kellie’s passion and engagement in class.

As I think about Kellie’s legacy, the part that resonates (as I write this note) is how she never gave up exploring and sharing her passion for life with those around her.

Mark

The ‘Ann and Charlotte’ Mark speaks of are his new wife and new baby. The family is doing really well according to my sources, in case you were wondering like I did! Babies are magical joy bringers. Big love to the van Meurs. And big love to you Kel. Your angels are here doing their thing; your angel gift to those writers enables them to do theirs.

…not exactly. This time I’m back in the stirrups again. This will be my seventh downstairs-region-surgery and I feel like I’m becoming an expert at donning the theatre garb. I’d prefer to be donning the actual-theatre-garb. Reckon the other patients in here would too. We’re lined up in recliner chairs, hairnets and compression knee highs on, politely smiling at the surgeon and anaesthetists who call on us, trying not to think about the fact that very soon, our hoohas will be seen by those very same people.

I don’t like it.

I have set my jaw in resolute forebearance. My exterior is calm and quiet. Only my blood pressure gives anyone any clue that it upsets me to be back here again. The nurse hums and hahs and goes off to let them know. She’s worried about stroke risk. I’m not, I know it is just a reasonable physiological response to gynae surgery. If you think about it, it’s absolutely ridiculous. I have to suspend my mind, somehow, and not think about the fact that there will be knives in my lady bits, while I am unconscious! Of course my blood pressure is high, that is an alarming thing!!!!

So, off I go. Pretending to be brave again and feeling like a scared kid.(be gentle with me kind surgeon)

I look forward to being on the other side of it.
How do you cope with pre-op nerves?

UPDATE: They were so lovely and gave me lots of nice medicines to make it all okay. I’m out and delightfully ‘lala-land-y’. Resting in bed for a bit now and no lifting for a good long time. Shame I couldn’t get them to instruct that there should be no cooking, child ferrying, washing or otherwise domestic delights for the next six months! Ha. Just thought I’d let you know that it all went really well, the surgeon found two more unhealed incisions to repair from the last surgery, so it is good that I agreed to get it done. Should be good as new now! 😉 Happy days. I’m off for a snooze.